


A Chance to Live Again

by Amelia_Holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Benedict Cumberbatch woman version (implicit), Gen, Hurt John Watson, John Watson's Blog, John-centric, Loss, Pain, Post-Reichenbach, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Holmes/pseuds/Amelia_Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“John, love, I know how painful it would be but just to make sure, it is better that you look at least for one last time. And I promise you, you never have to go there again if you don't want to” Mrs. Hudson looked at John as how a mother would try to make everything feel alright for her son. John sighed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chance to Live Again

Roughly three years have come and gone ever since it all happened. John’s therapist has repeatedly told him to write in his blog again ever since the incident. Then suddenly one day, he booted his laptop and went to his blog. After what seemed to be forever of having a staring game with the screen, he began to type.

_________________________________

John Watson’s Blog:

However long it has been, I still wait for that miracle that he would suddenly just show up and tell me he won against Moriarty. 

But this seems to be impossible since  
1\. He seems to be really dead and  
2\. I don’t live in Baker Street anymore. 

Maybe the second one isn’t really an issue: he is Sherlock Holmes for god’s sake! Well, he was Sherlock Holmes.

A few months after his death, I decided to go back to the field of medicine and do volunteer work. It was that or I’d sit down in the flat and wait for the impossible or be ridiculed by people for believing in a hoax whenever I’d go out. I’ve traveled from different parts of Asia and of South America. I’d occasionally come back to London for a few days, during his death anniversary. I would always see Mrs. Hudson, Molly and even Lestrade by the grave. There even came a time that I saw Sarah there. But never Mycroft. And ever since the incident, we never saw each other again.  
Anyway in these three years that passed, I still stay true to what I said: Sherlock is real. Was real. I believe in him. And I always will. I always would.  
_________________________________

John closed the laptop. That’s the reason why he was once again in London. Harry keeps on insisting that he stay with her during the times he’d be around, but as usual, John would rather not. He then went by the window in his hotel room. He saw that night has fallen and it was raining. Funny he thought; the sky was doing the crying for me. With a deep sigh, he decided it was time to go to sleep.

“I’m a fake…”  
“Nobody could be that clever…”  
“That’s what people do right? Leave a note? Goodbye John…”

John suddenly sat up, panting and beads of sweat pouring down from his entire body. Discombobulated as he was, he took in his surroundings: small room, a table to his left where a lamp and his laptop was, a window a few inches above the table and antique-looking wallpaper plastered on the walls. ‘Yes, right, hotel” he said to himself as he began rubbing his eyes. He saw that light was already creeping to his room. Deciding to get up, he took a shower then texted Lestrade.

 

Currently in London. Breakfast?  
JW

 

Sure! See you at the usual place in 20 minutes.  
GL

 

“It’s good to see you ‘mate” Lestrade said happily as he and John shook hands. “As always Greg” John replied. They both sat down and ordered breakfast.

The ambience of the diner seemed welcoming John back to London in a painful way. He remembered being here with Sherlock, him catching some breath and eating then Sherlock got a message in the pink phone with the bloody pips. He shrugged and tried to forget the memory.

While he and Lestrade were eating, they chatted about the things that happened in their lives these past few months. When they finished eating, Lestrade sighed.

“It’s that time of the year again, isn’t it John?”  
“Apparently, it is Greg.”  
“How are you holding up?  
John smiled “How do you think?”  
“John, it’s been three years. I know it’s hard but ---- ”  
John cut him off “Greg please, I know. And if you must know, I saw my psychiatrist the other day”  
Lestrade’s phone rang.

“John, I’m sorry to cut this short. I’m glad to hear about you meeting the psychiatrist again. See you soon?”  
“Greg, as always, nice to see you and absolutely”

They both stood up and again shook hands and walked out the diner.  
John had a few hours to kill so he decided to walk around London like he always does these past few years. As he walked around his memory lane, he can’t help but feel being followed. Every time he turns to look around, nothing seems out of the ordinary. Then that one time he looked behind him, he suddenly bumped into a lady who was holding a stack of books. The books fell all over the place. Both he and the lady immediately started to compile the scattered books.

“I’m terribly sorry ma’am. I wasn’t looking where I was going” John said very apologetically.

“Oh, no worries. I sort of wasn’t looking where I was going as well” the lady replied in a very kindly manner after clearing her throat.

As John handed the books, he saw the lady’s hands. For a woman it was sort of huge and her fingers were long. Then he looked at the entire person. She was tall and ethereal. She was taller than John was to be honest; even without her black boots, its heels three inches high. Her dark blue coat covered her purple dress which were both body-hugging and showed how slim she was. Her long, wavy ginger hair covered a huge portion of her face, which might’ve happened since they both bowed down to get the books from the floor. And it seems her eyes didn’t want to meet John’s. Why? Those eyes, those hands. It was so familiar to him. But how?

“Thank you again. I better be of. I hope your limp would get better.” She said with a cheer after clearing her throat again and walked away as briskly as she could before John could react. He decided to follow her.

“Damn my leg” he mumbled. The pain became less and less tolerable that he decided to forego following the woman, who was also now nowhere in sight, and the rest of his memory lane plans and went back instead to the hotel for his late lunch and snack combined food.

_________________________________

John Watson’s Blog:  
3 years--- 3 bloody years have passed. And it still feels like it happened yesterday. I was so alone and I owe you so much. 

But now I can’t help but feel that again, living a solitary life. They say the first time is either the best or worst. I dare to disagree.

And so I have decided: after this, I’m never going back to London. I’ll forget everything and maybe even everyone and start a new life somewhere else. Where? Wherever my feet may take me. Maybe it is for the best.

I owed him so much, but I owe myself a chance to live.

But do know this, until the very end: I never believed he was a fake. And never will. And if ever for some kind of miracle YOU might be reading this, do know you have been a great friend, believe it or not. And no body, not even you could tell me you were a fake.  
_________________________________

 

Have you seen his latest blog entry?  
MH

 

After an hour, Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, very agitated since he didn’t get a reply and summoned Anthea.

“Get him here quickly” he demanded

John closed his laptop and saw that it was getting dark. It was time. He saw that his food was left untouched. As he grabbed the sandwich to take a bite, he saw his hand was shaking. He then had both his hands at eye level and saw it was both shaking. He slammed his hands at the table that shook all its contents.

Forgetting his food, he grabbed his cane and made his way out the door.

John walks down the all too familiar path in the cemetery. As he slowly reached the black stone, he felt as if his heart was slowly being stabbed over and over. He clutched the cane way tighter than he normally does.

And so here he was staring at the black stone, the mark to where his best friend was laid to rest. He stared at the shining gold lines that were used to engrave his name: SHERLOCK HOLMES.

“Hello, another year has gone by I guess”

Obviously, he didn’t get a response. But he was half praying he would hear that voice he missed so much. He shrugged, threw aside the thought and continued.

“It’s been three years, Sherlock. I waited for you to come a’ knocking and to tell me you’re alive. I was still hoping you won’t be this…” and he waved his free hand in the air. His sight was getting cloudy from the unshed tears, but continued.

“I guess I was wrong about that; but that alone. I know you are--- were real; nobody can always act like a git like you did…”

He bowed his head which made the unshed tears fall upon the damp grass; many tears followed in its path.

“I’m sorry but this may be the last time.”

John wiped his face with his jacket and made himself look at the stone, for one last time.

“I’m sorry” he muttered as he griped the edge of the black stone with all his strength. Then turned around and began to walk away. 

“Uh, uh, uh! Not so fast Johnny boy!” said a very familiar voice from behind. But before John could react, everything went black.

When John opened his eyes, he realized he was tied to a chair. He didn’t know where he was. He could only see a few inches in front of him with the help of the small light bulb directly above him. The rest was pitch black.

“Oh! You’re awake!” said that voice, coming from the dark.

“No you can’t be” John replied, obviously shocked.

“But I am John! Didn’t you miss me?”  
The sound of a footstep, then of another echoed in the room, until a recognizable figure was staring in front of John.

John stared, astonished.

“Really, didn’t you miss me Johnny boy?! I know someone who did!” the man said in a high-pitched voice.

Suddenly John regained his senses.

“BUT YOU DIED! I WAS SO SURE OF IT! EVERYBODY WAS! Sweet Jesus, you shot a gun to your head! I saw you after Sher---” John stopped abruptly and stared into the darkness.

“Oh but John, proving is just a detail, you should know that. The thing is I’M ALIVE!” the man happily replied in his signature high-pitched voice and continued talking while pacing around John.

“Oh and what was that? After Sher---? Sherlock fell to his death? Which helped prove he was a fraud? Is that what you mean?”

John tried to get out of the restraints.

“I swear Moriarty, if I get out of here, I’ll make sure I’LL KILL YOU IF IT’S THE LAST THING I’D EVER DO!” he hissed while his teeth grinded into each other and his entire body full of rage.

“Oh calm down, John. I’m not the only one who’s back from the dead”

“Wha--?”

“Are you really that ordinary? And to think you’re always with him.” Moriarty said looking above still pacing, and then he stopped in front of John. He leaned close to him until their faces were inches apart.

“Or are you just messing with me my dear Johnny boy?”

No response.

“Oh John, I have been trying to get you all day but someone keeps getting on my way” he said with the last few words in his signature high-pitched voice once and started pacing around John again.

“Mycro---”

“Oh no. That’s not how he does things.” Moriarty smiled at John and stopped pacing in front of him again.

Moriarty then lowered his face to the level of John’s until they were inches apart.

“But I know someone who’ll do that---again. And here you are--- as bait this time” Moriarty said menacingly.

“Ow!” John painfully said. Then he looked over to where the pain was coming from--- a syringe was injected to his right shoulder.

“Sleep now, Johnny boy. I don’t need you to be awake for a while”

John’s sight was getting fuzzy. Then suddenly a white light appeared in front of him and saw a tall shadow figure forming in the middle of the light.

“Ah Moriarty, we meet for real” a rich baritone voice said, coming from the direction of the figure.

“Sher---“ John slurred before he became unconscious.

John suddenly felt a splitting headache. He groans and slowly opened his eyes.

“Dr. Watson, how are you feeling?” a kind female voice said.

“Oh, fine. Yes, fine. Where am I?” John groggily replied. Everything his saw was basically in white--- the chair to his left, the walls, and even the lady to his right was in white. A nurse? He said to himself.

“You’re in the hospital sir. Been unconscious for two weeks now” the nurse replied who was now checking John’s dextrose.

“2 WEEKS? JESUS. What the bloody hell happened?” John slightly panicked and stared at the ceiling.

“John! It’s great to see you’re awake!” Lestrade said as he entered the room.

“Greg! Definitely nice to see you. What the bloody hell happened?” John greeted as cheerfully as he could.

“You tell me ‘mate. When I got there you were already unconscious” Lestrade said as he sat down by the chair near John.

“I really can’t remember much. All I remember was I was in the cemetery, then the next thing I know I’m here”

“Well don’t stress yourself that much John. You could think of that when you’ve rested.”

While John and Lestrade were chatting Molly and Mrs. Hudson came over to visit as well. It felt like old times for John. And God did he miss it. This would have been a great scenario for John, the best in a long time, the people very special to him here and chatting about, if only---. John shrugged then felt a stabbing pain in his head again. He tried to rub it with his hand free from dextrose.

“Well, that’s our cue. You really need to rest ‘mate.” Lestrade said.

“See you tomorrow love. Rest well” Mrs. Hudson said as she touched John’s cheek in a motherly way. John smiled.

“Bye John! Get well soon!” Molly said in her cheerful way as always.

“Thank you guys see you soon” John replied and dozed off.

When he woke up, he saw a man with an umbrella by the door.

“Mycroft” John sternly said.

“John” Mycroft greeted. John didn’t respond so Mycroft continued.

“John, it’s nice to see you awake after a long time”

“You’ve been visiting?”

“Why yes, to make sure you’re alright”

“WHY?” John said slightly angered for some reason.

“John, it seemed there was no need for us to meet after the--- incident; but hearing you were confined now, it was but right that I visit. Hope you get better soon” Mycroft said then smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Well I better be off, can’t be away from the office for long not with the North Korea missile issue…” Mycroft let slip.

John stared suppressing a grin.

“Well it was nice seeing you, do get better” And Mycroft left.

John dozed off once again. Weird images visit John in his sleep. Nightmares? Dreams? Memories? He can’t choose. But over and over he hears that rich baritone voice calling him in a very worried manner.

“John? John are you alright? WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS THE AMBULANCE LESTRADE?!”

When John is released from the hospital, a sleek black car and Anthea was waiting. He got in. It felt like he was slipping back into the old habit. But that can’t be. When they stopped, he was surprised he was brought to the last place he wants to be--- 221B Baker St. Despite wanting to debate about being here, he decided not to. Might as well visit Mrs. Hudson he said to himself. How funny it was that despite it all, he still had a key to the door. Mrs. Hudson never asked for it back, and he forgot all about it. So he let himself in and went to Mrs. Hudson’s flat.

“Come in” Mrs. Hudson said cheerily.

“SURPRISE!” the group shouted when John opened the door then two party poppers were opened. Streamers were placed around Mrs. Hudson’s flat and lots of food, mostly pastries obviously made by Mrs. Hudson, was on the coffee table. Lestrade, Molly, and of course Mrs. Hudson was there. It was like they were in the hospital again, but with a much more cheery atmosphere. How John missed being with them. But then John can’t help but feel that something’s missing--- someone to be more specific. If only he were here John thought, this would’ve been the best moment yet.

“Oh John, I’m sorry if my timing’s a bit off but someone is going to take your previous flat upstairs already. There are still some things left up there and you might want to have a look” Mrs. Hudson said with a tone of sadness on her voice.

“Mrs. Hudson, you can probably throw everything I left up there. Just talk to Mycroft if he wants anything of his brother’s” John said trying to hide the pain he felt---obviously not working.

“John, love, I know how painful it would be but just to make sure, it is better that you look at least for one last time. And I promise you, you never have to go there again if you don't want to” Mrs. Hudson looked at John as how a mother would try to make everything feel alright for her son. John sighed.

“Alright” he said and decided to go upstairs at that moment. It was now or never. Other than the fact he was slowed down by his limp, he really dreaded going back there after all that happened so he most certainly took his time in going up those steps.

When he was upstairs, he looked at the door of their old flat which was ajar. He then looked at the floor deciding that it would be better to slowly take everything in than with just one blow by looking at the entire view of the flat in just one look. That would be too much for him.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Before he was able to look up, a rich baritone voice coming from the inside of the flat said

“John”

He froze.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading!  
> Please do comment about what you thought of the story. It would really mean a lot :)  
> Thanks so much! :)


End file.
